


Heaven Filled with Silence

by ayy_zajjy



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Minor Original Character(s), Pre-Game(s), The Conclave, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 20:51:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7136618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayy_zajjy/pseuds/ayy_zajjy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evelyn Trevelyan finds herself at the Conclave, where her destiny is forever altered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heaven Filled with Silence

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically a "prologue" of sorts to Inquisition, and a character exploration of my Inquisitor. After learning that the human Inquisitor comes from a life of Chantry service, I thought it would be interesting to play a character who was actually quite religious, since neither my Warden nor my Hawke particularly were (needless to say, Cassandra and my characters were instant besties).
> 
> Originally, this served as the start of a longer fic that was meant to be a somewhat AU retelling of Inquisition, focused more on Corypheus and the Venatori and less on the other various antagonistic forces present in the game. But that fic remains in about half-finished limbo, and this piece works just as well on its own, so I figured I'd share.

Evelyn Trevelyan knew she wasn’t supposed to be here. Overseen by none other than Divine Justinia V, the Most Holy herself, the Conclave would determine the fate of Southern Thedas. Grand Clerics, Revered Mothers, Grand Enchanters, and Templar Knight-Captains comprised the rank and file attendees. Evelyn, a mere initiated sister of the Ostwick Chantry, stood poised on the fulcrum of history amongst figures who cowed kings and queens.

Her presence was no mere happenstance. Back in Ostwick, Evelyn had pleaded with Revered Mother Elowen to allow her to tag along with her betters, calling in every favor she was owed and - reluctantly - throwing around her family name. For centuries, Trevelyan funds ensured the brothers and sisters of the Ostwick Chantry did not have to live the ascetic lifestyle so often referenced in scripture unless they really wanted to.

Evelyn was not the sort of woman to insert herself into events, nor did she hope to ingratiate herself with her betters. The truth was, she had found her last decade with the Chantry profoundly unsatisfying. As the youngest child of five, she had always known that her destiny was to serve the Faith - the Trevelyans gave more than gold to the Chantry; they gave their own blood (although both types of donations benefited the family as much as it did the recipients).

Shortly after taking her vows, the Blight had struck Ferelden, and Ostwick was flooded with refugees, most of whom had nothing more than the clothes on their backs. It was during that time, when she was helping people who had lost everything, that Evelyn had felt like she was in the right place, doing what she was meant to do. But the Blight came and went within a year, and the Ferelden refugees either returned home or settled down in the Free Marches, and the brothers and sisters of the Ostwick circle returned to lives of liturgical study and quiet contemplation.

Evelyn volunteered for more active work whenever she could, bringing medicine to the sick or helping to run bandits and raiders back to the coast. But when rumors of unrest in Kirkwall began to circulate, when apostate mages began to raise hell in the Free Marches, her life went from boring to stifling. The edict had come down from Most Holy herself that the Chantry - the one institution with sway over mages, templars _and_ the nobility - was to remain staunchly neutral in the conflict, and stubbornly continued to do so, until some crazed mage forced them into action by blowing up the Kirkwall Chantry.

Evelyn knew - as did all of Southern Thedas - that the Conclave was too little, too late, but she was determined to be there anyway. Now, she was wondering exactly what she had expected. It wasn’t like someone of her lowly status would be consulted during the proceedings, and the Trevelyan name may have carried significant weight in Ostwick, but she was far from home. Yet again, she was nothing but a passive observer, too indoctrinated by her upbringing to go against the grain, and too forthright to engage in the sort of political maneuvering that would earn her a voice among the upper echelons of the faith.

That she lacked the personality for politics was never more obvious than now, surrounded by Grand Clerics from nearly every corner of Thedas south of Tevinter. Having the greatest distance to travel, the Free Marchers had arrived last, and found themselves wedged, quite literally, between the Orlesians and Fereldens at the Chantry camp. The majority of the women present were middle-aged or older; old enough, in other words, to remember the Orlesian occupation of Ferelden thirty-odd years prior. How many on both sides had begun their service to the Chantry as war widows or orphans, with nowhere else to turn? The Chantry was supposed to transcend banners and borders, but war was a wound that scarred, but never fully healed.

Despite the common assumption, Free Marchers were not automatically friendly with one another on the basis of geography. To Evelyn, Kirkwall seemed every bit as depraved and hellish as Antiva. When surrounded by so many outsiders, however, a rare sense of solidarity came over them as they huddled about their campfires for warmth in the cold, snowy air. The Frostback Mountains, it seemed, had come by their name honestly.

“Cousin!” Evelyn looked up from her breakfast and saw the pale blonde hair of Marya Trevelyan, a cousin on her father’s side.

Evelyn rose from her seat by the fire. “It’s good to see you, Your Reverence.” Despite their shared blood, the formalities had to be observed, and Marya was the first to correct her if she spoke otherwise.

“I’m surprised to see you here, cousin,” Marya said. Evidently formality only extended one way. “But it is good you came. It’s about time you start placing the right words in the right ears.” She winked.

Evelyn gave her cousin a wan smile. It was no surprise Marya would see the Conclave as an opportunity for personal advancement first and foremost. Aside from their hair color and their last name, they had little else in common.

Marya was scarcely five years her elder, but had already worked her way to the rank of Mother back in Markham, just north of Ostwick. Evelyn knew everyone in the family compared the two, a comparison from which she always emerged lacking. Somewhat spitefully, she thought, _it’s easy to advance when your great-aunt is the Grand Cleric of your city_.

Great Aunt Rosen - or rather, Grand Cleric Rosen of Markham - was in attendance at the Conclave as well, and had exchanged the requisite pleasantries with Evelyn the evening before: How is your mother? Has your sister given birth yet? And so on. The conversation had not been a complete bore, however; her aunt’s constant referring to Evelyn’s father Arthur as ‘ _Little Artie_ ’ had kept her chuckling for the rest of the night.

Marya plucked half a biscuit from Evelyn’s plate, popped it in her mouth and made a sour face. “Stale, of course.” Regardless, Marya ate the whole thing. “This country is just dreadful, isn’t it?”

“It’s cold,” Evelyn conceded. “But I think the trip across the sea was worse.” Her stomach had only just now recovered from the fierce waves of the Waking Sea.

“Ugh. Dreadful. It’s all just dreadful. But your mother is from Ferelden, isn’t she? I suppose it wouldn’t bother you as much.”

“My grandmother’s parents were Ferelden,” Evelyn corrected. Marya waved her hand in a dismissive way that suggested it was all the same.

Evelyn’s maternal grandmother’s family had fled to Ostwick to escape the Orlesian occupation, just as their countrymen had fled years later to escape the Blight. Her grandmother had been born in the Marches, however, and was only Ferelden in appearance, which she had passed on in varying degrees to her grandchildren - to their occasional torment. Evelyn had earned plenty of teasing for her freckles, but the middle children had it the worst - they were full ginger.

“Did you know,” Marya dropped her voice to a whisper, “ _no one_ from Kirkwall is here? Amongst the Chantry, I mean. Who knows about the rest of the warmongers.” She batted a lazy hand toward where the mages were camped down the hill.

“Really?” Most of those who served the Kirkwall Chantry, including the Grand Cleric, had perished at the hands of a mad apostate, but Kirkwall had been where it all began. Even a lowly initiate could provide insight into the start of this conflict.

Marya shrugged. She seemed more scandalized by the absence than concerned.

“Well, I just thought I’d hop over and say ‘hello,’” she said as she straightened her robes. _And eat half my breakfast_. “But now, I really must prepare. We’ll catch up later.” Marya waved and then walked off, not to her tent, but to the side of the nearest Grand Cleric - Evelyn though she might be from Wycome - to fawn.

Evelyn shook her head and finished what little remained on her plate. Revered Mother Elowen caught her while she was washing up.

“Sister Evelyn.”

“Good morning, Your Reverence.”

“Please prepare your bow, Sister. We will need you to monitor the crowds while the Conclave is in session.”

Evelyn frowned. “The crowds, Your Reverence? I thought they hired those Qunari mercenaries for that.”

“The crowd of onlookers that has gathered is much larger than we thought. For such a remote location…” Elowen trailed off as she often did, before abruptly snapping back to the topic at hand. “It is better to have one of our own keeping an eye on things. Those savages can hardly be trusted…” Evelyn didn’t bother asking why anyone would hire mercenaries they didn’t trust.

“Your Reverence, I had hoped to observe-” Evelyn didn’t even know what she was trying say. What exactly _had_ she hoped for by attending the Conclave?

Her inability to articulate her thoughts hardly mattered. The Revered Mother was easy to coerce on matters of which she was in charge, but she was immovable when it came to orders that were handed down to her.

“You will deal with the onlookers,” Elowen said, firmly but not unkindly. “I’m certain you can take care of it.”

“As you say, Revered Mother.” What other choice did she have?

“The crowd is to stay within that area.” The Revered Mother pointed to a large clearing atop a steep hill, overlooking the Temple of Sacred Ashes where the Conclave was to convene. The only way off the clearing was a singular trail carved into the hillside, or the fifty-something foot fall into the valley below. Such a bottleneck would hardly require more than a handful of men to patrol, but Evelyn knew what was really going on. A bigger crowd had gathered than was anticipated, and the fact that the Chantry had to hire mercenaries - and Qunari of all creatures - proved just how weak they were after the Templars defected. To have one of their own facing the crowd, ostensibly commanding the sellswords, would at least give the illusion of some control.

Evelyn was fairly certain the Revered Mother had recommended her specifically for the job. She did not consider herself a tomboy - she enjoyed dresses and jewels as much as any other woman - but she had an adventurous spirit and liked to stay active. Staying in and reading a book on a rainy day was all well and good, but to spend countless hours of the day hunched over in study drove her mad. Anytime there was something that needed doing out-of-doors, Evelyn was the first to volunteer, and often created jobs for herself just to get out and moving. She had honed her prowess with the bow as a nobleman’s daughter, and put it to good use whenever she could in service of the Chantry. It was a skill that had been granted by the Maker, after all.

Evelyn changed out of her Chantry robes and into her traveling clothes, electing to wear the chainmail shirt she had brought for trouble along the road under her jacket. It seemed a ridiculous precaution for keeping curious onlookers out of the way, but one never knew who might have a dagger stashed away under his coat. The Chantry camp was in a flurry as she made her way to the path along the hill. Under normal circumstances, the tall, wedge-shaped headpieces worn by the high-ranking members of the Chantry were meant to distinguish them from the rest of their flock, but here there was such a sea of them that it was the initiates in their flat cowls who stood out.

She found three of the Qunari mercenaries keeping people off the path down to the valley and saw three more pairs of horns towering amongst the crowd. Evelyn had scarcely seen a Qunari before, and had never actually interacted with one. All she knew about the horned giants was what she had heard out of Kirkwall, and none of that was good. But they were a long way from Kirkwall, and she had to work with these people, so she had to leave the rumors behind. She knew better than to judge an individual based on the reputation of an entire species.

The three Qunari nearest her were so broad that, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, they completely blocked the path leading to the valley. Evelyn was not a particularly short woman, but even the shortest of these grey-skinned mercenaries was over a foot taller than she was. In addition to their natural bulk and horns, they were all carrying greatswords or clubs that probably weighed nearly as much as she did. The notion that she was somehow in charge of these people was so absurd that it almost made her laugh.

“You sure look happy for someone who got the shit job,” one of them said.

“No, the _shit_ job is mucking out the latrines,” the shortest of the three said. Evelyn thought that one might be a woman - its chest was not bare like the rest - but it was hard to tell. All three laughed.

“I, uh...hello.” _Well, that’s a stunning introduction_. Their crass speech had completely caught her off guard. Everything Evelyn had heard of Qunari - which was, admittedly, at least fifth-hand - was that they lived in such a highly regimented society that they made even the most straight-laced Orlesians seem wild and carefree. At least they didn’t seem insulted by her presence, since one of them could easily hurl her off the side the mountain.

“You better to talk to them, lady. They’re asking shit we haven’t been paid to answer.”

They grey wall of muscle parted and Evelyn stepped in front of the crowd. The onlookers were still being orderly - probably due to the three large Qunari patrolling amongst them - but they were agitated. Unlike the mercenaries, she couldn’t see over everyone’s heads, and was forced to take questions from the faceless mass and shout her answers back into it.

“What’s going on?”

“Why are we stuck up here?”

“Has it started?”

“Why can’t we go down to the Temple?”

Evelyn cleared her throat, and tried to speak as loudly as she could while still being clear. “Good people of Thedas, may I have your attention please?” She had no idea where this commanding, yet diplomatic, tone was coming from - perhaps it was some instinct of her noble blood. When the crowd quieted down a bit, she continued.

“The Conclave will begin shortly. All are welcome to attend, but we cannot let you down into the valley _for your own safety_.” She had to shout the last part over renewed protests. She was mostly making this up, of course, but with both the rebel mages and rogue Templars in attendance, things really could get dangerous. Strange, she thought, that this had not really dawned on her until now.

“These men,” _and maybe woman_ , “are here to protect you.” Evelyn looked back and one of the mercenaries was grinning at her. His two front teeth were gold.

With the crowd calmed - however temporarily - the remaining three Qunari made their way back toward Evelyn, each one uglier and more scarred than the last. In their large wake, Evelyn was stunned to see quite a few elves and even dwarves among the crowd. The other races of Thedas had their own gods and did not worship the Maker, but what was to be decided here today would affect everyone regardless of what they believed.

It wasn’t long until the blare of trumpets and pounding of drums heralded the commencement of the Conclave (and Evelyn couldn’t help but sulk - she couldn’t even get a job blowing on a horn). Along with the people she was meant to keep in line, Evelyn had to crane her neck to get a glimpse of the Divine. The previous Divine had come through Ostwick when Evelyn was very young, but she had never met Divine Justinia V. Through the sea of red and white robes, she glimpsed a lone figure, stately even at this far vantage, moving toward the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Behind the Divine came over a dozen Grand Clerics and then the Templars and rebel mages, with a gaggle of other Chantry officials providing a buffer between the two hostile groups.

But the procession didn’t stop in the middle of the valley. It continued on to the Temple, and the wide double doors were thrown open as the Divine approached. The Conclave was going to be held inside.

 _Oh, bugger me_ (Evelyn had picked up a colorful vocabulary from the rough-and-tumble sorts she had aided through the Chantry, and every once in awhile, fate provided her with the opportunity to use it). The crowd quickly realize what was going on and rankled instantly. The throng began pushing its way down the mountain path, despite Evelyn’s pleading with them to calm down, although she could hardly blame them for being angry. The mercenaries hefted their weapons.

“Wait!” she cried. A couple of the Qunari gave her a queer look.

“They’re going to trample us, lady. And you,” the female one said.

“Wait, just...just don’t kill anyone?” Despite her pathetically hesitant tone, the mercenaries shifted their stances to what she assumed would produce a non-lethal attack. They really were very obedient. The Qunari bellowed, and that was enough scare people into submission - for a moment. But those in the back, well out of harm’s way, continued to push and shout.

Just as Evelyn was about to say _sod it_ , and let them down into the valley, the sky lit up.

The blinding flash came a fraction of a second before an ear-splitting _boom_ seemed to split the valley in two. Evelyn was thrown off her feet, sliding down the snowy mountain path before twisting around and managing to arrest her fall. The crowd she had just been trying to control erupted into a panic, now pushing and trampling each other to go back the other way. To her horror, Evelyn watched helplessly as several on the periphery of the crowd were knocked off the side of the mountain, tumbling to their deaths in the snow some fifty feet below.

The scene in the valley itself was even worse. The roof of the Temple had been completely blown off. Littered with smoke and rubble, the people trapped down there were not trying to flee; they were killing each other. Had another mage decided to follow the path of that apostate in Kirkwall? Or had the Templars taken advantage of the gathering to destroy the rebel mages once and for all? The cause of the explosion was unclear, but what was clear was that both sides had instantly blamed one another. Templars were cutting down anyone in robes, and the mages were furiously slinging spells that sent anyone caught in their wake flying. They could kill each other all they wanted, Evelyn thought, but there were Chantry brothers and sisters down there, innocent of everything except, perhaps, inaction.

Evelyn half-sprinted and half-slid down the rest of the path.

“Still think we shouldn’t kill anyone, lady?” She spun around to see that Gold Teeth and all the rest had followed her down to the valley. Any other time, she may have found the way he grinned at her with such obvious bloodlust disturbing, but she was too shocked to worry about such things.

“Do whatever you need to do. I have to get to the Temple.”

“We’ll cut you a path.” The Qunari charged forward, weapons drawn. With an arrow knocked in her bow, it was all Evelyn could do to keep up.

She was so angry, so confused, there was no room for fear - or empathy. Next to the massive, grey-skinned mercenaries, mages and templars looked like children. They were knocked aside easily, and there was no time for Evelyn to comprehend the sick crunching sounds, the moans and groans, as they crumpled to the ground. Without feeling, she took two mages down with arrows to the throat.

The Temple of Sacred Ashes, only yesterday the site of the holiest of pilgrimages, was now defiled, its banners depicting Andraste’s sunburst in ragged tatters, walls and beams in shambles. The group stepped over one of the ruined temple doors and into a nightmare.

The Temple had been the epicenter of the blast. What had once been a grand, white hall was now blackened and bloody, littered with charred bodies and limbs without owners. At her feet, someone moaned. Evelyn noticed several others clinging to life, who had crawled or dragged themselves toward the doorway.

“Get them out of here!” The Qunari carried survivors out two at a time. But amongst the dead and injured, Evelyn saw very few of the distinctive headpieces worn by the Grand Clerics. The most important members of the Chantry must be deeper inside.

Taking care not to step on anyone - or what remained of anyone - she headed toward the deep sound of a man’s voice. Was that one of the Templars or mages? Men were not allowed amongst the Chantry’s upper echelons.

Evelyn ducked through a large hole in one of the bricked walls of the Temple’s inner sanctum. Gold Teeth was on her heels (she had no idea how he managed to fit his bulk through the opening in the wall). Partially concealed behind a broken column, Evelyn peeked out and saw more dead - the missing Grand Clerics - and something that, perhaps, used to be a man.

At the center of the room, visible in profile, was a creature taller than even the Qunari, but ashen and gaunt as a desiccated corpse. What had once been robes and armor now were melted into its flesh. And above its head, the sky had been torn open, a jagged wound in the heavens bleeding green-gold light all around them. The creature continued to speak in a sonorous language Evelyn had never heard before. Gold Teeth muttered something and Evelyn turned around.

“Vint,” he whispered.

“Tevinter?” She’d heard all sorts of disturbing tales of Tevinter magisters, but was fairly certain they were still human.

The mercenary nodded, but his face was unsure. “Vint, but...not the way Vints talk on Seheron.”

“What’s he saying?”

“Something about heaven - no, the Golden City. The Fade. It calls itself something like...the Elder One? I think.”

“ _Someone_!” It was a woman’s voice, full of terror and desperation. “ _Help me_!”

Evelyn reacted without thinking. She ran into the center of the room, face to face with the monstrous creature, one side of its face twisted and scarred in a permanent grimace. Held in one hand, in unnaturally long and spindly fingers, was a huge metallic orb, humming with magical energy. And there, collapsed on the floor beneath him, was the crumpled figure of the Divine.

Blood was leaking out of Divine Justinia V, but instead of pooling on the floor, it swirled around her body and up to the sphere this so-called Elder One was holding, the object’s magical noise growing louder and the hole in the sky widening with each drop. _Blood magic_. For the first time since the explosion, Evelyn was afraid.

The Elder One paused in its dark ritual, cocking its head at this interloper, and fixed her with such a terrible glare she felt her knees go weak. Without warning, a deep growl came from behind her, and the mercenary Gold Teeth charged, horns first, at the monster’s side. They collided with a horrible sound, and the magical orb went flying straight for Evelyn’s face. The last thing she remembered was throwing up her hands.

 

\----------

 

Evelyn staggered to her feet, blinking the afterimages of the explosion from her eyes. When her vision cleared, it was immediately apparent she was no longer at the Temple.

A sickly greenish fog, similar in color to the tear in the sky above the Elder One, hung all around her. The sun was gone. Jagged spires of stone reached above the yellow clouds and boulders the size of houses hung in mid-air. It smelled musty, of ancient dust and things rotten and long forgotten.

 _This is the Fade_ , Evelyn realized. _I’m dead_. Suffice it to say, this was not how she had pictured the afterlife.

There were cobblestones under her feet, the color of old bone, and Evelyn walked along them toward the only thing that stood out in the distance: a bright green light, not putrid like the rest of the place, but shimmering and brilliant.

She found herself at the bottom of a seemingly endless staircase that lead to a castle so massive and black it swallowed the sky. The green light called to her. Taking the stairs slowly - no reason to rush when you’re dead - she turned abruptly when she heard an ear-splitting, inhuman screech.

Advancing on her position with an alarming celerity was a horde of what could only be described as monsters, things from nightmares, their limbs twisted and clawing, eyes huge and black and merciless. _Demons_. She had never seen one, but had read about them enough in Chantry lore to know.

Dead or not, Evelyn was not eager to see what happened if the things caught up with her. She sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and the green light began to take the shape of a woman, hand extended. Behind her, the demons howled.

 _Hurry_! The spirit made no sound, but Evelyn could sense it beckoning to her, glowing fingers outstretched. Evelyn reached out her left hand to the figure as the monsters’ talons scraped at her heels. Their fingers touched, hands locked, and in the span of a heartbeat that seemed to last a lifetime, Evelyn looked deep into the figure’s featureless face and found _something_ buried deep there, something it was trying to tell her if only she had the heart to listen.

Then, just as suddenly, it was all ripped away. The light, the sound, everything. There was nothing but a searing pain in her left hand where she and the spirit had touched.

This time, when her senses came back to her, there could be no doubt that she was alive. The smell of smoke and death filled her nostrils and her body felt as if she’d been run over by a cavalry charge. Whoever - whatever - had been in the Temple was gone; only death remained. Evelyn took three steps before she collapsed.


End file.
